Words…

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Words, words, words, black, brown red, words for which my tears have shed.  It is said that the living word speaks truth, yet one must die to have real proof.

Birth to death we are taught from the Holy text, we will not truly live until sacrifice has been met.  The sky will open the “Just” will fly away, the “Wicked” given a second chance must stay.

Words, are they truth or a means for the pious to lie, and for the answer are you willing to die?  I want to believe, to hope, to live life to its fullest here on earth, and I choose to continue to search.

To taste the lush berries down in the blackberry thicket, to smell the wild rose on the side of the hill, to find a love that will not let my heart be still.  I want to lie in a clover field watching bellowing clouds float by, to gaze at a summer’s cobalt sky.

I want to read poems with my legs dangling over the highest cliff, this…only this will give my earthly heart a lift.  To stare out at forever, on the landscape below, as I pray that my time in the here and now will travel ever so slow.

I want to dip my toes into a frothy sea, to feel the salty wind upon my face and know that I am in the right place.  Here on earth and alone I will survive and I hope that if there is a God he will wait for me a little while.  I am already old, but as surely as I breathe, I am not ready to go. 

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©2016.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

thBPHSKA15“Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it. Anger is bad, dump it. Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Author: Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Artist/Writer of Fiction, Poetry, Prose and Thoughts, Opinions Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since the Author's birth, raised by her father, her Native American great-grandmother and an African-American woman whom were all grand storytellers. As early as four years old she was roaming the countryside around her home alone or with her father; and at night she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Summers she lived with her fathers' sister in Birmingham, Alabama; it was that she would discover a library, and mingle with her aunt's circle of friends that included local writers, artist, and politicians. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was her playground on the weekends. Her aunt encouraged her imagination by introducing her to journaling, which she filled with stories over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. Her love of art and painting came through the teachings of a grammar school teacher which she pursues when the well of words dry up when writing. Throughout the years along with her father, great-great-grandmother, and her beloved Aunt Francis, other influences were her high school English teacher Mrs. S. Odom, writers Faulkner, Capote, Fitzgerald, and Harper Lee. Later in life, she discovered the warm and comic writing of Grace Paley. The vivid poetry of William Carlos Williams; the strong poetry of Phyllis McGinley, and the world's most exciting women, Maya Angelou are some of the poets at the top of her list. Nonetheless, with adulthood, the desire to write buried itself deep within, the dream wilted but did not die. It laid dormant, gaining experiences all written in hidden journals. These experiences, the contents of these journals became short stories and poetry reading to share with the world. She writes of many life experiences in poetry format; questioning everything from Mother Nature to God...the poetry is raw and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world; it fills the pages of her writing, the heartache, the abuse, and the denial her mother frankly portrayed. Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great grandchildren, her four-legged companion Mason, they live in Southern Wisconsin...far from her southern roots; however she continues to write and paint daily. Ann has published in Kindle eBooks and paperbacks at Amazon.com: Book #1 Echoing Images from the Soul 2012 Book #2 Beyond the Voices 2012 Book #3 Reflections of Poetry 2013 Book #4 Honeysuckle Memories 2013 Book #5 Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums and Aspirations 2014 Book #6 My Journey into Art 2014 Book #7 Asterial Thoughts

12 thoughts on “Words…”

  1. “I want to lie in a clover field watching bellowing clouds float by, to gaze at a summer’s cobalt sky…”—me, too! Tell you what, if and when i die, and if and when you die—I will come by and let you know how it is…but I am not in a rush.Love your writing! :) Blessings to you!

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    1. If this is all true…and my soul has collaborated on many forms of religions and formed its own theory but if…I try to live a life that will allow me to see beyond this veil that separates us from the other worlds. Thank you for the wonderful comment; by the way it was my birthday on the 13th and the piece almost wrote itself. E

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  2. This almost sounded like a song, a ballad with a story to be told. I have hope there are second chances, like the way some say “we all fall short of the Glory…” I liked some lines which were playful like hanging your legs over a cliff. . . :)
    This is a comforting and moving post, Elizabeth.

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  3. I could not imagine a world without words to communicate our most secret thoughts , beliefs , hopes, and dreams and then we could never speak vocally directly to GOD

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    1. I don’t think I would have survived all these years without words, beginning when I was four and my aunt taught me to read and write. She had me journal my summers with her, my mother found them when I was about 10 years old and threw them away demanding I stop such foolishness as I declared I was going to be a writer. I stopped and did not take up journaling for 33 years, when I was alone and no one could tell me what to do. Thank you for your kind comment and for a long ago thought that appeared to me when I read your words. E

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